The Dirty Harry movie before Christmas
by Spawn Guy
Summary: Deadpool. On Halloween. What? You were expecting a Nuff said or something?


The body hit the floor with all the force of fifty stones worth a deceased bureaucrat shaped ironing board. Not that it would be audible to the fat cats downstairs over the pounding music. 

"Oh they said I was mad, mad, to mix that much slow acting poison into that much punch…but who's laughing now? Well, obviously not you. Not that ya probably could. I mean just look at you. Dear god, man, how many more of the noble semi legitimate business men with ties to the Maggia, Hydra and A.I.M. must die before the Executive fitness registration act is past?"

Wade Wilson turned his masked face up to where he knew the concealed security camera was watching. The horrified guards in the security room several floors below leaned further back, one of them that much closer to vomiting.

"And for the folks at home, or alternatively their high security mansions built deep in the peaceful Swedish countryside, all of which I happen to know the locations of by the way, the answer iiiiiiiiis…"

The mercenary snatched the fallen glass of punch out of the stiff hand on the floor, dinging a fountain pen off it for several seconds.

"All of you! Unless of course this seasons annual conciliation prizes are sent to my current employer, please allow four to five weeks for delivery, all of your bones starting with your pinkie fingers if you don't."

Pen and glass vanished from view. A quick boy scout salute flashed into view on the monitor to the sound of breaking glass.

"Don't scrimp on that holiday goodness rich guys and gals. Happy pumpkin day!"

The mound of red and black surround by various weapons walked off to the side of the monitor view. The only sound in the security room was the rookie's hacking breaths.  
The red mask with the too big eyes loomed back into view as suddenly as a kitten in a tree being electrocuted in a thunderstorm.

"Oh, and go buy Cable & Deadpool. Best book out there. Toddles."

The rookie staggered over to the trash can, retching loudly as the screens exploded into static.

"…this is Halloween, everybody make a _scene_, trick or treat till the neighbours gonna die of fright. It's our town, everybody _scream_ in this town of Halloween…"

Deadpool paused mid chant to snag a passing drink he hadn't ordered, took a sip, made a face, tossed the rest of it at a skull dangling from the wall, and continued to the other side of the crowded room pulling his mask back into place.

By all acounts of professional mercenary protocol he should have left the building the moment he completed his objective, but it _was_ Halloween and this _was_ a party. So he'd succumb to temptation and teleported into a broom closet two floors below, using a little good old image inducer magic ("Tonight's special guest star ladies and gentlemen, Mr Alfred Pennyworth!") to mix with the flowing crowd of guests like a bribe into a politicians wallet. There was so much "atmosphere" down here that he'd abandoned the disguise in favour of his business and pleasure outfit. British accents were never his strong point anyway, and the next guy who asked for the cheese platter was going to find it used to cleave his head off his shoulders. Like a Bendis storyline, the party had sounded good but had dragged on like a dead man with practically nothing interesting to make it worth the time and money gone into making it let alone buying it. It would be sometime before anybody found the body, or the luckless guards found their way around the barricade blocking their booth door or past the laxatives he'd put in there coffee but that drink had reminded him that there were places to go, people to break the fourth wall with… He paused.

"Helloooooo nurse!"

The blonde (23 at least) giggled. The sound was lost to the Marilyn Manson version of This is Halloween, the ever changing primary coloured lights drawing more than a lot of attention to the slight rubbery shine of her very white, very tight, very short nurses outfit. The mercenary closed the distance between them with hormone induced super speed, a candy apple suddenly under the girl's chin thanks to the slight of hand skill that allowed one to produce a card, any card or breaking a person's nose, fingers (on both hands, which could be done with only one's right foot) spine and soul before they realised there was a contract on their heads.

"Hey baby. And what's your name?"

The lipstick covered mouth, nowhere near as red as Wilson's costume, flashed a set of pearly whites, nowhere near as blank as Wilson's eyes.

"Tracy. Nurse Tracy."

"Well Nurse Tracy, while I know a good little boy should watch his calorie intake at this time of year, I find myself whishing this here apple wasn't the only thing covered in candy."

The giggle again. It faded like Joe Quesada's hopes of ending a certain marriage as the Halloween treat was suddenly examined at arms length, blocking her face from the examiner's view.

"Although come to think of it, isn't this a sign of just how far the capitalist world has effected the healthy world, if not the religious world?"

She blinked as the weirdo held the apple upside down, masked head cocked to the side like a philosophical sawn off shotgun.

"When you eat an apple, should you not be eating that apple for the nutritional benefits of said apple, sans the unnecessary calories found in a coating of candy? What possible reason could any child have to stick this thing in their mouth? Well, that's a stupid question…is it not Halloween, night of the sugar rush and the excuse to realise strange fantasies through the dawning of bed sheets and plastic masks? Which brings me to another point…Wiki, not that I'm saying this should be taken for granted mind you, defines the original meaning behind Halloween as '…the bright half of the year ended around November 1 or on a Moon-phase near that date, a day referred to in modern Gaelic as Samhain ("Sow-in" or alternatively "Sa-ven", meaning: End of the Summer)' and 'the next day also meant the beginning of Winter, which the Celts often associated with human death, and with the slaughter of livestock to provide meat for the coming Winter. The Celts also believed that on October 31, the boundary separating the dead from the living became blurred.' In short and religious (for a certain value of religious) time dedicated to survival of a harsh time resulting from the changing of the climate and acknowledging of the departed. Where is that to be found now in the western world? Has this short period become so commercialised that it has truly lost it's meaning as merely an excuse to fulfil some subconscious need to embrace the supernatural, and feel no guilt from the young consuming even more less nutritional food?"

For a while, there was only the sound of the party between the two. The apple was eventually lowered.

"Excuse me toots, the thirty first always brings that little extra something out in me. Like a little extra gas. Ain't I a stinker?" Deadpool tossed the apple over one muscular shoulder as casually as he would toss a handful of active grenades into someone's, oh probably Taskmaster's, backyard. It bounced off the already annoyed face of the older gentleman approaching in the mad scientist costume. Which became a murderous face. Or what he thought was a murderous face. Deadpool would have been able to produce several eyewitnesses who could tell him quite the contrary, if half of them hadn't been targets or had fled the country if not the solar system to avoid having to look at his mask again.

"_Excuse_ me."

"Sure, from the smell of it you got it worse than I do." Deadpool said without turning around. Tracy giggled. The scientist's clearly fake eyebrows came together under his clearly fake hair piece.

"Come here Tracy."

Tracy's eyes narrowed with the venom of a future divorcee in waiting "Oh don't be such a prude Brad."

"Brad! Janet! Doctor Scott!"

The two stared at the mercenary, the red areas of his costume changing colour under the party's lights. "Oh come on! You can't not get that!"

Tracey giggled. Brad held up a rubber gloved finger, the rubber glove far too big for his hand.

"Now, listen to me you.."

"Yeeeeeees?" Deadpool drawled, one hand on a katana hilt.

Brad took in the weapon, but some inbuilt suicide tendency built into his arrogance made him continue "…just what are you supposed to be any way?"

Hands on hips, Deadpool was suddenly atop the buffet table. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the special news bulletin that interrupts your favourite show! I am the wrong number that wakes you at 3 AM! I am the weirdo who sits next to you on the bus! I am the world's biggest Darkwing Duck fan, and for some reason Dr Freakinstein, I don't think the lady wants to go with you. So make like a banana and split before I peel off all your skin."

Tracy giggled again. Brad bared his teeth. And Deadpool leapt off the table, held up one hand in Brad's face, and put the other around Tracey.

"Okay, okay…I now when I'm beaten."

Brad smiled.

"And this ain't it. But just to show you there's no hard feelings…"

A hand went into one of the many pouches on the mercenary's belt, and Brad found a small pumpkin in his glove covered hand.

"Got that off Norman Osborn on ebay." Deadpool winked. With a slap of Tracey's ample derriere, he made his way to the other side of the room, pausing only to deposit a skull on top of an unaware waiters plate of hordivers. Brad looked down at the thing in his hands.

"Osborn? The Norman Osborn?" He was suddenly greener than a jealous Bruce Banner. "That Norman Osborn!?"

His scream rising over the music ( which had stopped anyway as some semi unscrupulous anti hero had subtly removed the speakers plug with a quick kick), Brad buried the thing in a punch bowl. A second passed. And another. Several more passed before Brad realised that even though the punch bowl probably wouldn't have prevented the removal of his hands, holding on to it wasn't that bright a move either. And that every one was staring at him. And, here was the important part, the bomb had not in fact gone off.

"Psych!" Deadpool hollered from the other side of the room, and the door slammed shut.

"What's this? What's this? There's colour everywhere. What's this? There's white things in the air. What's this? I can't believe my eyes, I must be dreaming, c'mon Wade, time for stealing!"

The New York streets rang to the sound of wailing preschoolers. Pumpkin faced bags of stolen spoils in both hands, Deadpool hopped another rooftop, image inducer shifting from Jay Leno to David Letterman. He didn't know why he was adopting talk show hosts while stealing candy, he just did what the fan boy who'd high jacked him decided to type. Which just happened to be that he jump down into a shadowy alleyway to enjoy his candy.

"Glad to know my fans are aware of the dangers of gingivitis. Dr Doom and Venom my ass, bring on the sugar. We'd stand about as much chance as pre crisis Byrne Superman, not that Birthright wasn't good but it just wasn't necessary, vs. Golden age Superman. Ha! I win again fourth wall!"

Pausing long enough to make sure the alley was empty, Letterman twinkled out of view. Parking his red spandex clad fanny on a "No loitering" sign, the mercenary chewed his sugar coated way through the bags like someone with internet access chewing out Superman Returns. Or Hulk. Whichever they had too much time to waste on in their mother's basements.

The alley was that much more dirty, but far more festively colored, for an uncountable number of candy wrappers. Ten seconds later, it was even more dirty, a fresh new disgusting smell rising through both it and the sounds of the mercenary's retching. At least he'd remembered to lift up part of his mask. He'd just put it back down again when the candy made it's second move. Sugar rushes with a healing factor were never pretty. The cost in teeth alone…

Pretty colours danced through his head, Bea Arthur rode past on a chariot made out of Kevin Smith's Superman Lives script, and Deadpool collapsed into a near by pumpkin. Fire licking his mask like the puppy Ma and Pa never got him (the pumpkin was lit. Huzah!), the stench of burning vomit in his nostrils…just like Mardi gra! Or was it Independence day?

SQUEAK. suggested a passing Death of Rats.

"Shut up. Your just a secondary character of a well known fantasy series passing through due to opportunistic hacks taking advantage of my renowned ability to break the fourth wall."

The Death of Rats kicked him.

"Ow."

SQUEAK.

"Ah, go stalk Pat Lee. After all that Dreamwave crap and they still let him in on Spider-Man; The Other…not worth the money by the way"

Bad music, too much candy, no super fights because the Batman next to you was probably just a Christian Bale wannabe with too much time and PVC leather on his hands, popular characters from modern literature popping up like rashes just because they could, forced to steal candy from the rich and the middle class to entertain himself when he ran out of hot nurses…

…the fact that even after all the decorations and vomit and masks were cleared away, he'd still be wearing his…always, always wearing his…

This, Deadpool reflected through the closing feeling of unconsciousness, was why he hated Halloween.

And Jack O' Lanterns. Don't forget the Jack O' Lanterns. The mushy, fiery Jack O' Lanterns.

"Uh…is he dead?"

"It's Deadpool."

"What's Dirty Harry got to do with this?"

"Just focus. He's wakeing up."

"So he can't take the smell either?"

One blood shot eye opened, looked up at two champions of justice. It went wide.

"We need to talk." Daredevil's Billy club was firm in his hand, the rolled up newspaper of justice waiting for the puppy of…not justice. Wade was too out of it to remember the correct terminology. "Specifically about the death of a certain legitimate business man with ties to the Maggia, Hydra and A.I.M, who the FBI was wiretapping for weeks."

"Yep." Spider-Man lowered him self a few more inches down the web line suspending him from the lamppost the author randomly decided to put there. "And there's a bunch of kids looking out for stolen candy."

"Now…I'm sure you fellas have some questions for me…well I got a couple my self…"

There was a click, and Deadpool smiled through his half burnt off mask at the chance to keep the costume party going that little while longer.

"Ever play bob for the pumpkin bomb I just got off ebay?"

**Fin.**

Hope every one enjoyed that. For such a short story, it was quite the chore to finish. Civil War was starting up, Liefeld was gonna bring back Onslaught, Deadpool had all these special needs…but at least I got it done on time, right?

What do you mean Halloween was weeks ago?


End file.
